*points pistol at side of head while standing on the side of a boat and holding onto a rope* "I'm William Turner. If you don't cooperate I'll blow a whole in my head, disappear into the ocean and leave you to rot in your curse." (Something to that effect, at least)
*winces* "Like that."
*squeals happily* I saw Pirates of the Carribean last night. Oh, Orlando is soooo cute as a pirate. *jumps up and down excitedly* Johnny Dep isn't too bad, either. My friend has dubbed him sexy and I can't find any grounds to refute her on. So lucky us to have two fine men to watch kick the stuffing out of the bad guys. Lol. I wanna see it again. Cute Orlando. Simply love his expressions.
Okay, okay. I'm done gushing. *stares off into the distance with a vaguely dreamy expression . . . Shakes head sharply* Sorry. Here be the next chapter. It's late because no matter what I did, I could not get ff.net to cooperate with me. *breaks into hysterical tears* It wouldn't listen to me! I kept saying I wanted to visit and it shut me out! It shut me out! It doesn't love me any more! *laughs a little* Oh, as if. Ff.net doesn't love anyone.
Ah, well, the good thing--the only good thing--about a late post is that you don't have to wait as long for the next post.
Well, now that I've made myself feel better and forget how bloody nervous I am about posting the rest of this story, you can get on to reading it, right after these words to my precious reviewers:
Bill the Pony: You mean I did it right! *jumps happily, then stops abruptly* I mean, so sorry. *tries not to look guilty and fails* I really was not trying to scare people. Too much.
NaughtyNat: Hope you did all right with that project thingy I know nothing of. *g* Hm, well. It could be worse. Really. It could. Whether or not it will get worse . . . You'll have to read to find out. *evil grin*
Grumpy: Ooh! Cookies! Here, here. *shows rest of story* Do you share? Lol. As for who's after who . . . All will be made clearer soon, I promise. I'm afriad to explain lest I give away more than necessary and ruin al the wonderful surprises.
Now, I think I may be glad I can't remember what happens next. . . .
Stuck in Shadows
Kelt came to awareness quickly, and immediately wished she had not. Searing pain sent sunbursts off before her eyes, disturbing the darkness and further hindering her vision. The floor seemed to spin under her and she wondered how that was possible since she was sitting down and could feel easily enough that the ground was not moving. She frowned slightly, then mentally shook her head, knowing the real action would bring swift reprisal down on her head when her body protested.
She was fairly certain she had a mild concussion and a few bruised or cracked ribs. Her shoulder was wrenched from trying to hold onto the ranger. Blood moved sluggishly down the side of her head, alerting her to a small cut on her forehead. Aside from that, she merely ached, a fact she was quite thankful for even if she had no knowledge of how far they had dropped. The stones that had fallen with them had been cause for concern.
Plus, now that she was more aware, she knew of another reason for concern: she had lost the ranger; and he was injured. She cursed and forced herself to move, long experience allowing her to ignore the pain that pulled at her, threatening to take away her awareness. She ignored it, knowing she had to find Strider or it could be too late.
She snorted, pausing as the world spun. She should have killed him before Shirk even had a chance to do anything. Now, she was stuck. She had already taken irreversible steps in her efforts to save this one's life; now she was as good as dead, also.
Carefully feeling before her, the girl felt along the floor, searching for another body in the rubble. It took several long minutes, but she breathed a cautious sigh of relief once she located the other's body; one part of the difficulty over, she ran her hands along the still form in an attempt to determine its orientation. She had to figure out what position he was in before she even dreamed of taking any action. The young woman found Strider's head and traced down his neck to look for a pulse. Initially relieved to have found one, she was distressed to find it erratic.
In the dark, she shook her head and searched down the Ranger's body looking for injuries and hoping desperately that he had not ruptured anything, for there would be nothing she could do about it, even had she been able to see. As best she could tell, his left arm was dislocated and he had a few broken or cracked ribs, likely three, but was otherwise unharmed--aside from the arrow. It was the arrow that worried her the most, however, and she knew that regardless of readiness, the pair had to leave the area or it would not matter what shape they were in.
Neither of them had any supplies, and that was ill for it deprived them of both needed water and medical supplies. Kelt moved slowly away from the Ranger, still searching the floor. She knew there was wood around these shafts, possibly former supports that had been discarded or which had broken and continued the cave-ins that periodically occured--not that she knew or cared so long as she found it--and was soon rewarded for her efforts. A fair-sized stick came to hand and she quickly ripped some cloth from the bottom of her pants, tying them and wrapping them around one end of the stick. The more difficult task came in lighting the makeshift torch, which surprised her by lighting on only the second attempt, flaring sudden light through the tunnel and causing her head to throb in protest. It was a couple moments before the pain subsided enough for her to see.
In the flickering light, she turned once again to the human who lay motionless beside her. It eased her mind and heart a little to discover that there did not appear to be any grievous injuries that she had missed in the dark (though she could not work out why she should care if there were--he was a ranger, for pity's sake!).
She glanced around, attempting to determine which direction would be the best way. There were three tunnels to choose from and she frowned slightly, trying to decide which way to go from any hint around her, desperately grasping for any memories she had of this place from her tour of the area.
Hesitant, blurry images came to mind and seemed to council the leftmost passage. She had sequestered supplies down one tunnel, she simply had to remember which one it was. Strider's life could depend on her decision.
She frowned, catching herself once again worried about the infuriating man. It was her own life she was worried about. Her life could depend on finding those supplies, for if she did not, even she could not get far without them.
Finally, she decided to trust her instincts, and they matched her memories. The young woman returned her attention to the man, concern shooting through her yet again as she saw his pale, ashen face and shallow quick breathing. A slight sheen of sweat glistened on his brow and top lip, though she knew his skin felt more clammy than anything. She knew there had been poison on that arrow. Her only consolation in the matter was that the poison was not likely to be fatal. The dart had been intended for her, and Shirk would not have tried to kill her for even he would not deliberately risk Sauron's wrath. Now, though, it was a different story.
She shook those thoughts aside, acknowledging the cold comfort of her thoughts before pushing them aside. Carefully, she placed the torch down before reaching for the ranger's left arm: that, at least, she could fix. Pulling and twisting, she popped the apendage back into socket and wished she could bind it to keep it from moving.
Shaking her head, she delicately pulled the limp ranger up and onto her shoulders, taking great pains not to put any more pressure on his lungs than was absolutely necessary, nor dislodge the arrow for she could not risk removing it until she could clean and bind it.
When she finally had him settled as comfortably across her shoulders as was possible, she retrieved the torch and proceeded down the tunnel. This was going to be a long walk.
She hoped she was not wrong.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The first thing he registered was movement. That, and the fact that he appeared to be hanging. He did not have long to ponder this, however, for almost as soon as he realized it, it stopped.
"Strider?" a hesitant voice called back to him.
He made an inarticulate sound that even he could not attach meaning to. His bleary mind was still not up to anything so complicated.
A quiet laugh was the response. "Not to worry, Strider. We'll be stopping soon. I wager you will feel better once we have."
With that, the slight rocking he had marked earlier returned, and he failed to stifle a groan as his pounding head protested. Vaguely he wondered where the dwarfs had come from that were having so much fun reorganizing his head. Then he wondered what had happened . . . and realized shortly after that he had no idea where they were, where they were going, or why they were going there, not to mention who it was that was carrying him.
Panic shot down his spine, raising the hairs on the back of his neck, before he was able to get himself back under control. He frowned and forced himself to concentrate. He knew these things, or at least thought he did, or should.
Slowly, the information came back to him, and he was more than a little surprised to realize that Kalyamuina was the one who had to be carrying him. He did not think a girl so small as her would be able to bear his weight, which was not inconsiderable, but apparently she was. He decided it was not important to dwell on.
For several minutes he simply let his mind wander, drifting over various thoughts that popped into his head--anything so long as it distracted him from his pain. His mind was clearing slowly as the pain seemed to intensify, and the ranger was not sure if that could be considered a good thing or not. However, along with increasing clarity also came the desire to see his surroundings. He could see faint impressions of light from behind his closed lids and decided he wanted to know the origin of the flicker of light, though he was sure it was fire as he could hear the rush of flame devouring something.
He made to open his eyes, and suddenly knew why he had had them closed in the first place: his eyes were threatening to explode. That, and his head was threatening to follow. Immediately, the lids closed back down over his eyes, cutting out the incredibly bright light of the torch held only a couple feet away from his head. Distantly, he thought he heard a whimper, but could not be sure.
"Easy, friend," Kalyamuina murmured, her voice sounding loud to his ears but not quite loud enough to increase the pounding racket already bouncing within. "You have a concussion. This second fall helped your head not at all, I think."
"Where are we?" he managed to force through sluggish lips.
"Hopefully headed in the right direction," came the answer, and he frowned.
"What do you mean?"
He felt the other turn her head a little to gain a glance at his expression. "I mean that I hope we are heading in the right direction."
"To go where?" he demanded, his voice somehow forceful despite his weakness.
"To our destination," Kalyamuina demurred. Apparently, she expected the impatient retort that sprung to mind, for she continued before he could form the words. "It has no name, so I can not tell you, for it is simply another place indistinguishable from the next, save that it contains supplies we might use to help with that headache which is causing you so much discomfort, among other things." There was a brief silence, then, "It should not be too much further."
Aragorn decided it was best to leave it at that. For the moment, at least. He could do nothing about the situation so there was no use objecting to it. He did, however, fervently hope that she was right, and that this place they were heading towards was not much further.
Now that his mind was mostly clear and he could better tell his surroundings, he had become aware of the fine trembling in the young one's shoulders. Whether the trembling was from fatigue or pain, he could not tell, but he could tell that Kalyamuina could not keep going much further as things stood, nor could he move very far on his own.
It galled him to think he was more or less helpless. His brothers, were he not in possibly mortal danger, would no doubt find it funny that he had gotten himself trapped and injured, and that the person he had just met had to drag him around. The icing on the cake was that the person just happened to be female. Embarrassing, but he could do nothing about it; he was just glad no one was here to see this.
Then, there was the question of whether or not he could trust her.
The ranger knew he had more than a concussion, and his dry throat which tasted vaguely of cotton reminded him of a time many years ago when he had allowed his brothers to talk him into a drinking contest, and the hangover he had had when he woke up. That's what I feel like, he acknowledged to himself. I feel like I'm hung-over. He remembered now that he had not cared for the feeling too much then, either.
Time seemed to swirl around him without meaning, and yet it felt like ages from the time he woke till the time when he was lowered to the ground. At first he had been able to mark their passage by his companion's steady footsteps. That changed, though, for after a while--once the shaking had grown worse--her steps ceased to be steady and became erratic. He could not figure out how he was not jolted any more when they were irregular than he had been when they were steady, but he was not in a mood to question good fortune, for the jolting pained him quite enough as it was.
He had managed to open his eyes sometime after that initial attempt and now looked around at where they had stopped. Kalyamuina stooped over something he could not see, moving what he thought was sand quickly out of the way. Aragorn frowned, then chose to ignore it. He had a feeling there was much he did not understand which was beyond him until his head decided to be more cooperative.
Ill focusing eyes took in the gray walls surrounding them, rough and uneven, they looked to have been either hastily chiseled with no attention taken for aesthetic taste or worn away by water rushing quickly by. They were rounded at the top and turned slightly in just before connecting with the floor. The human did not mind this in the least: it made them more comfortable to lean against in his current state, though he doubted that was the creator's intention. He also noticed, after a moment, that this section was not merely another part of the corridor they had been walking through. It was actually a cavern of sorts, like a round room with two doors leading through it on opposite sides.
A small cry of triumph wrenched his attention back to Kalyamuina. She stood quickly, raising a small pack, and had to quickly take a couple steps back as she swayed unsteadily. He tensed, prepared to get up if she needed help, but knew that even if she did he would never make it in time to keep her from falling. The ranger was relieved when she recovered her balance and turned to look at him.
She smiled. "I did choose the right way," she announced, moving to kneel beside him. "Which means we now have supplies we lacked before."
He nodded, his vision spinning mildly and he blinked deliberately a couple times to see if that would halt it. "That's good."
She glanced at him once more briefly before turning to the pack settled beside her. The young one rifled through it quickly and soon pulled out some bandages and a couple vials and herbs, water, and a bowl. "Water may be the one thing we won't have to worry about down here," she commented as she deftly dumped a handful of some herb in the bowl and used a stone to grind them. To that, she added water and a drop or two of one of the vials. A small handful of some kind of powder was added next and the whole concoction mixed together, and all this done while she continued to talk to him. "There are all kinds of streams and such that drip down these tunnels from the tops of the mountains. If my ears don't deceive me, there should be one such place less than a league further that way." She tilted her head toward the door opposite from where they had entered. "A good thing, too, for I think we shall need more than I have."
He met her gaze as she finished her mixture, which now looked like some kind of paste, and wished she did not seem to shift forms before his eyes, looking sweet one moment and fearsome the next. Her voice, too, kept bending and changing, sweet and playful one moment and deep and fearsome the next. He frowned slightly, wishing what he was seeing made sense.
She frowned at him, looking carefully at his eyes in the light from the torch, which still burned a little ways away. "The poison has started working," she murmured. The young one sighed and shook her head. Aragorn had no idea why. What poison was she talking about? "It's a favorite of Shirk's."
His eyes widened slightly. She knew those thing's names? He blinked as he tried to puzzle out this new information. He licked his lips. "Who are you?"
She looked up at him through her lashes before grabbing water and a cloth and began cleaning the cuts he had sustained in the fall, starting with the deep one near his hairline. He was slightly amused to see a nearly matching one on her forehead, but refused to be deterred. It was important, he knew it was.
"Kalya--" He cut off us a coughing fit took him and he struggled to breath. A hand touched his back, grounding him, and a water skin was pushed against his lips. He accepted it shakily and did his best to drink. At least as much of the water ended up on the floor as made it into his mouth, but he managed to stop coughing. "Kalya--" he tried again, only to be cut off.
"Kalya is fine, Ranger. Kalyamuina is a bit long in your state."
He nodded. "Who are you?"
"You know," she responded, picking up the bowl and turning away from him slightly before facing him again, though she would not quite meet his eyes. Her fingers were dipped in the paste and the mixture spread over his forehead. He hissed slightly when the stuff first contacted the broken skin, then relaxed as the pain receded. His head even ceased some of its relentless throbbing.
"No, I know your name," he contradicted after taking a calming breath. "Or at least the name you have given me. What's your real name? Your real identity?"
"You will know when you are prepared to tell me the same," she replied.
He blinked. He thought perhaps she knew a bit more about Rangers than she had told. He had a feeling she knew a great deal about a good many things which she had yet to reveal. Most would probably have to wait for the right moment to be revealed, and it could be a very long time before he knew even a fraction of what she was capable of. He swallowed hard as reality seemed to shift again. He closed his eyes.
"Who are they?"
"They?"
"Those others up there. You called one of them Shirk." He opened his eyes in time to catch an annoyed glare directed his way.
Kalya ducked her head and turned her attention to treating another cut. She was silent so long he thought she would not answer, but eventually, she did, just as he was about to ask another question with, he hoped, different results. "They are the Slyntari. I have had experiences with them before."
Aragorn nodded. It was better than nothing, and he suspected it would do no good to ask for more, still. . . . "What are the Slyntari?"
"You will find out," she evaded, "if you survive this and make it to Rivendell. You may ask Lord Elrond. I wager he will be able to tell you."
Aragorn frowned at this and wondered if the drug was responsible, or if she really was not making any sense. When the scene before his eyes changed into a horrific nightmare once more, he decided it had to be the poison. It was difficult to focus on anything.
Then he noticed that she was watching him closely. He held her gaze as best he could, determined that he would not back down . . . though precisely why he did not want to back down eluded him. His frown deepened. What was wrong with him? Oh, right, poison. That did not help him feel better at all.
He blinked when he felt a cool hand press against his forehead. His eyes drifted closed of their own free will, and he wondered when he had looked away from the being before him. A worried frown pulled at the girl's lips when he managed to pry them back open and he wondered why she was so ill-at-ease. There was no reason someone so young as her should to have to deal with anything dark enough to cause such concern as he saw on her face. His head tilted slightly in question. "Why are you worried?"
The girl's eyes widened. He wondered why. Then blinked as she seemed to disappear, so fast did she move away. He then blinked again as the room spun crazily about him, moving first one way and then the next; he wished it would stop. He was already quite dizzy; his surroundings did not need to help put him off balance.
Then he had to blink again, for the girl was suddenly back before him, holding a mug. Her lips moved but he heard no sound and frowned. She pushed the cup at him, and instinctively he took it, compliantly moving it closer to his mouth when she pushed on the bottom. The rim touched his lips, a warm fluid splashing against his lips. He swallowed without thought, then realized she wanted him to drink it.
It was with an odd sense of deja vu that the world he was looking at grew kind of fuzzy and began to fade around the edges. His eyelids grew heavy and he had a hard time keeping them open. Blue eyes peered at him anxiously and he wondered why before the small space disappeared, his eyes closed, and he sank back into comforting darkness.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Kelt stared with a mixture of concern and annoyance; the former for the human, the later at herself for feeling the former. She had not expected the poison would take him so quickly. The ease with which it had stolen the other's mind was disturbing for it heralded the next stage. He would beg for this escape before the end and he would not get it, unless she could neutralize enough of the drug first. The problem was she did not have the right herbs, and no means to acquire them.
*"Leave him be!" A hard voice yelled, startling the young girl into looking up. Furious blue eyes stared back at her, burning her. "Get away from him!" Her arm was grabbed roughly as she was yanked to her feet. "You do not help others whose folly injures them. Everyone pays for their mistakes. You do not help them. Leave him be."*
That one had died, she remembered, shortly after she had been dragged away though she could have saved him. His name had been added to the ever-growing list of failures, which was added to daily, possibly hourly. Now, she too, had been added to the list of failures, denied a presence on the short list of successes because of one man.
Dark thoughts filtered quickly through her mind, most of them uncomplimentary to her former leader. She had never loved him, never even liked him, but she had respected him and it angered her that he had not trusted her deal to with the human on her own.
Which brought her back to the ranger. She frowned slightly and picked back up the bowl of paste she had been using to treat his wounds. There were still a few more cuts she needed to tend to, and the paste was quickly dabbed onto them. Then she turned her attention to the arrow she had let be for the time being. Carefully, she touched the skin surrounding the arrow, trying to see it clearly.
It pierced his right shoulder just under a hand span down from the top of his shoulder. Had it been on his left side, it likely would have pierced his heart. Nearly half the arrow had pierced his flesh and she frowned. Most Slyntari arrows were easy enough to pull out since they had no wish to leave behind evidence of their passing, however there were other arrows meant to be dangerous to an individual if removed hastily. She tried to remember which kind this was. She thought it was the former. The arrow she remembered hitting the wall near them had contained no edges or flared head.
Decided, she placed her left hand against his chest just above the arrow and grabbed the shaft firmly as close to the head as she could. She was suddenly glad the drug she had placed in his tea would keep him unconscious so he would not fight her while she did this. Then, taking a deep breath, she pulled quickly straight out. It came out easily, covered in blood, and she could just make out the residue of the poison on the head and the shaft just above it. She comforted herself with the thought that he would not yet have to suffer from the extreme hallucinations that usually accompanied the early stages of the drug's effects. They were often disturbing, at least the ones she remembered always were, and from the odd looks Strider had given her, she was pretty sure whatever he had been seeing was not pleasant. The drug she had given him in the tea would ensure he experienced nothing, for a little while, at least.
She glanced down at him, not particularly liking how he made her feel, and began dabbing the paste into the arrow wound; it would help with the pain and ward off infection. She had never enjoyed watching other people suffer. Her own suffering meant little to her--it was simply a fact of life, it happened. She could accept her own pain. It hurt so much more when that same pain was inflicted upon others, and it did not truly matter who it was.
Most of the time, she could ignore those feelings, push them to the back of the mind so they did not interfere. They were inappropriate for her. She was punished when they interfered and kept her from carrying out her job, and while pain did not bother her, neither did she enjoy her "punishments" at the hands of Shirk. They were always quite painful, and, unfortunately, quite memorable.
She wrapped his chest with bandages to cover the wound so it would not attract the dirt that seemed to love bloody injuries so much and to brace the ribs she knew were broken to keep them from moving too much. They had hurt him, she knew.
Against all reason, she had to admit--if only to herself-- that it hurt terribly to watch Strider in pain, suffering for something he did not understand and had no part in. It hurt worse to know that things could only go downhill from here and that there was nothing she could do to stop it. Kelt swallowed painfully and wondered why that should be. She barely knew him! In fact, it would probably be a blessing if she just killed him.
Irritably pushing back any feelings of compassion, she drew the dagger she kept in her boot and moved it toward her neck. She could end it quick, release him from all danger and pain like she had that pregnant woman Shirk had wanted brought to him. She should, she knew, yet she paused.
If you kill him Shirk only has to worry about you, a voice spoke up in the back of her mind, sounding suspiciously like her father. You still need him.
She shook her head, denying what the voice said. She needed no one. In fact, she could get away faster and easier without the troublesome, meddlesome human which was likely more trouble than he was worth.
Still she hesitated, his kindness and consideration working against the barriers she had put up to accomplish her assignments. He had not yelled at her or berated her for mistakes, and she had made quite a few, she knew. He had taken an arrow for her when it was her own inattention that would have had her shot in the first place. Shirk never would have done the same. He would have said the arrow was her punishment for not paying adequate attention to the situation.
Next to Strider, Shirk was cruel. Kelt had never thought of him as such before and it was an odd thought. Were all men like Strider? Or was Strider an exception and most men were like Shirk?
Idly Kelt traced patterns in the dirt that covered the floor of the tunnel, her fingers moving in an unconscious pattern along the floor even as she held the dagger steady against the other's neck. She glanced down, meaning to take another look in her pack and caught sight of her doodling: a tree. Quickly, she scratched it out, erasing it with a quick sweep of her hand, then resheathed her dagger, deciding she could always finish him later if he proved too bothersome. The pack was barely a foot away and she scooted forward to reach it better for something to do.
Efficiently, the young Slyntari organized the various contents, placing like together and sorting them as best she could. Pain relievers, sleepers, clotting agents, cleansers and others were classified and examined. Herbs that fought fevers were given special attention and she put them aside. Once the poison truly started working, she would need to keep the other's fever down or risk losing him before there was even a chance of help. Pain relievers, too, were reverently sat aside. She was all too familiar with the pain that accompanied this particular drug. Shirk had first tested it on her--once he had satisfied himself that it would not kill her.
Her gaze became distant as she traveled back to that horrible experience. The hallucinations had been bad, but the pain had been worse. Her screams had been heard by many, even through the thick walls she had been housed in. By the time it had worn off, she could no longer talk, her throat raw from the near constant abuse she had put it through for nearly four days with no water to ease its burden. That had not been the last time she had felt the drug's bite, either.
She shook her head, and glanced back at the ranger. In that moment, she looked both excessively young and entirely too old. Innocence shone in her gaze, pained and lost, yet all too knowledgeable about the situation. The drug would not kill Strider, but he could still die. Kelt had heard about what had happened to the last man the poison had been used on. It had driven him mad; he had killed himself unable to deal with what he saw, depression knawing at his mind and destroying his will to live.
She pulled her legs up close to her and wrapped her arms around them, wishing she could go back and stop him from jumping in front of her, wishing she had been paying attention up there on that cliff and not distracted. He never would have jumped in front of her then, never would have taken the arrow, never would have been poisoned. . . .
No, he would have been none of those. Instead, he would be dead.
Kelt bit her lip, her brow furrowed, then turned away. She caught sight of the torch sitting by the wall. The light was dangerous. If Shirk and Nirt were looking for them, they would find them easily enough without a sign pointing out their location. Irritated and lacking anything to take it out on, she forcefully kicked the torch, knocking it too the ground and then kicked again to cover it in sand.
The flames went out and left both fugitives in pitch blackness undisturbed by anything. In the dark, as she had done so many times, she cried, liquid falling down her cheeks in silence. In the dark, no one could see her pain or confusion or know her weakness, and in the dark, she could no longer hold it at bay. In the dark, she could be someone else and ignore every lesson she had ever been taught beacuse there was no one and nothing else around her.
Eventually, she lay back and let her eyes drift shut, though it would not have mattered if she had kept them open, and released her consciousness to dreams. They would need to move soon. And she needed strength to help Strider deal with what was coming next. She only hoped it would not prove too much for the man. Men like Strider deserved to die heroically in battle, fighting enemies and winning battles, not slowly worn down and beaten into submission by some creeping poison that did more harm to the mind than the body.
She frowned slightly at the thought, then drifted away from consciousness and thought no more.
